


mix tapes

by spiritedwhere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Comedy, Domestic, Fluff, Happy Birthday Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedwhere/pseuds/spiritedwhere
Summary: Yuri doesn’t expect much for his birthday. He never does.It’s always been something forgotten as he wakes, jolted back into his mind as he enters the rink and receives gifts from his fellow skaters. A phone call from his grandfather during his break would give him a bump on his memory, but before he’d have the chance to hold some celebration, it’d be past sundown and too late for any reservations.It’s been that way for years. Yuri expects of nothing different for this year.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've tried to finish writing this SO MANY TIMES leading up to yuri's birthday, with no avail oh my gosh it just felt like i was doomed to keep writing new stories over and over until his birthday would come and pass and kill me omg BUT IT'S DONE so now i can have my happy half hour of writing rest

Yuri doesn’t expect much for his birthday. He never does.

It’s always been something forgotten as he wakes, jolted back into his mind as he enters the rink and receives gifts from his fellow skaters. A phone call from his grandfather during his break would give him a bump on his memory, but before he’d have the chance to hold some celebration, it’d be past sundown and too late for any reservations.

It’s been that way for years. Yuri expects of nothing different for this year.

The knocking that arises in the morning, a steady beat that continues for far longer than should, has Yuri up and out of bed the morning of his sixteenth. He’s slapping on slippers and stepping into a bathrobe that covers his pajamas, harshly opening up his bedroom door and stomping down the hallway. With the room closest to the living room, he’s by default the only person who is victim to early morning knockers. He’d complain to Lilia and Yakov about it, but doesn’t want to cause any troubles onto the two.

They’ve both been too good to Yuri, and so he grits his teeth, and opens doors at times when he’d rather be tucked into bed, and answers in passive sentences, and he deals with it all.

Yuri, on his birthday? Doesn’t expect much from opening up a door.

Seeing Otabek at his doorstep, the morning light casting a soft glow on his face, however, exceeds any and all expectations he has.

To say Yuri is speechless is an understatement, face that had been scrunched up to yell at the person now frozen. His mouth, which he had opened and prepared to volley curses from like a machine gun, was now dropped down to hang in shock.

“Happy birthday, Yura,” is the only thing to come from Otabek’s mouth, before he motions for the blond to step aside. Yuri listens, looking blankly at the guy. Otabek steps into the house, eyes examining the furniture. It’s regal and lavish, nothing out of place. The pillows freshly pressed, chairs and couches stain free. It’s almost as if the place was made for royalty, not a now sixteen-year-old skater and his coaches.

“Lilia,” Yuri says as explanation, and that’s all Otabek needs to hear. He nods, silent and observing. If it was anybody else, standing so intimidating in the room, Yuri was sure he would have raised his voice in anger towards them, questioned what rights beheld them to loiter around.

But this is Otabek. It’s different. Silence is something he’s found himself to be rather fond of concerning the older skater. It’s pleasing, like a morning spent in a dazed sleepiness, cold arms and warm blankets coming to embrace one.

Although, after a brief moment, Yuri can’t help but let the question seep from his lips. “How did you know it was my birthday?” he asks. “I don’t think I ever even told you when my birthday was.”

“Yuuri and Viktor,” Otabek supplies, eyes examining the silverware already set up for breakfast later. “They sent out an invitation to a dinner for today, asked me to come and surprise you.”

Of course, Yuri thinks. Those two, despite making an annoyingly affectionate couple, also go out of their way for Yuri. He likes to think he doesn’t care much for it, but, it’s a nice feeling to have from time to time, of people constantly on his side, always ready to go above and beyond, all for Yuri’s benefit.

“Well, you didn’t do a good job of surprising me,” Yuri says. He tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear, squints his eyes at Otabek. “You should have waited until they dragged me out for the dinner, then revealed yourself.”

Otabek turns his gaze onto Yuri, lets out a trace of a smile. “I couldn’t wait that long,” he tells him, as honest as ever. “After all, aren’t friends supposed to stay close together?”

Yuri finds the corner of his mouth turning up. _Friends_. He nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess so.”

When Yuri goes to tug down his sleeve, he notices the bathrobe he still bears. “Oh, I’ll go change into something else,” he says, sheepish. “Just, sit down and wait a bit.”

Otabek looks apprehensively at the neat and polished furniture surrounding him. “I shouldn’t,” he tells Yuri. “I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Well, then,” Yuri’s gaze roams around the room, “I’ll just go and change quickly. Did you bring an extra helmet? I might as well head out to the market and get some fresh bread for breakfast, with it this early into the morning. You’ll be joining us for breakfast, right?”

He gives Yuri a full on grin then, brightening up the room more than ever. He almost rivals the sunshine peeking in through the curtains. “Of course,” he says.

When Yuri reaches his room, he throws off his robe and quickly makes for his closet, scanning it as he searches for something to wear. Lilia has told him time and time again to sort out his closet, that a true prima would never go through their items so messily, and Yuri can’t help but recall that as his fingers flick from one hanger to another hastily. When he finds an unworn sweater he picked up on his last trip to Japan, a simple black sweater dotted with small tigers, he doesn’t hesitate before pulling it on, finding a pair of jeans on his nightstand to slide into as a companion to the sweater. 

Grabbing his phone and his wallet, Yuri runs a hand over his hair to somewhat smooth it down, and shoves a stick of gum into his mouth to help freshen his breath. On the way to the door, he leans down and grabs the pair of shoes lying next to his bed.

As he hops down the hallway, one foot nearly in the shoe and the other leading him down to the living room, he attempts to keep a low voice, in regard for Lilia and Yakov.

“Hey, Otabek, I’m ready,” he starts. “I hope I didn’t take too long.”

When he enters and views Otabek, Yuri’s cat in his arms, he can’t stop the way his heart drops.

“You didn’t tell me your cat was so friendly,” Otabek says. When he brings his head to the cat, they purr and nuzzle their head against his chin.

“They aren’t,” Yuri responds. “Not to everyone, of course. Usually, they’re only tame around me, sometimes Lilia. But that’s only _sometimes_ ,” he clarifies.

“Seems like they really like me, then.” Otabek smiles.

Yuri grits his teeth. “Yeah.” As he fixes his shoes, he hears the praises that Otabek gives his cat, practically cooing at each movement Yuri’s cat makes. He can almost feel the way his cat burbles with pride, completely forgetting about their actual owner, only feet away.

 _Talk about loyalty_ , Yuri thinks to himself.

“Let’s head out now, before Lilia and Yakov wake and bombard you with questions about your training schedule,” Yuri says, glancing around the room in case the very mention of the two would cause them to suddenly appear. Otabek nods sadly, putting down the cat onto the floor. Instead of curling up somewhere else, as they usually did with Yuri, the cat instead begins to press their head on Otabek’s leg, tail held high in an almost perfect arch. He laughs, bending his knees to pet.

“Can we take them with us?” Otabek asks, eyebrows arched in hope.

“They’ll be here when we get back,” Yuri tells him, mouth somewhat pouted. “And, they won’t be fond of the others in the market.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees dejectedly. “You’re right. They aren’t ready for that, just yet.”

_My cat! You don’t know what they’re ready for!_

Otabek straightens his spine, follows Yuri as he makes for the door. As his fingers make to touch the handle, he stops, and turns to reach for a notepad resting on top of the coffee table. Fumbling around for a pen, Yuri decides to write out a brief note explaining where he’s gone, and the arrival of Otabek. It’s the least he can do for when the pair wakes.

That, and he’d like to avoid having them alert the police in a hysterical rush once they realize he’s not in bed. Yuri would like to avoid a repeat of that situation.

Climbing onto the motorcycle, helmet strapped onto him, Yuri can’t help but wrap his arms around Otabek’s waist. Call it the early morning drowsiness that causes him to do so, but it’s Yuri’s mind all on his own that keeps them there. Otabek doesn’t rise up any protests from him to not so. In fact, he somewhat relaxes under his touch.

“You’re going to have to tell me which streets to take on our way there,” Otabek tells him. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Yuri tells him, moving his mouth closer to Otabek’s ear so he’ll hear better over the sound of the engine. “Let’s just go."

* * *

Speeding through the streets, when it’s just early enough that the traffic is nearly nonexistent and the only people awake are either shopkeepers and those sprinting along the bridge, makes Yuri feel powerful. It’s as if Otabek and him are rulers of this city, free to roam about with little worry of those coming in their way. There’s nothing to fear, no obstacle he has to get past before reaching the finish line. 

If Yuri had to wish for something, he’d wish to have that in another life. 

When they arrive to the marketplace, Otabek drives them to a street corner nearby the entrance. Once they get off and remove their helmets, Yuri runs his fingers into the strands of his hair, hoping to bring some volume back into it. It’s a little work, but he’s sure once he’s done it looks good enough, that, in the scenario he gets bombarded by his fans, he can look decent in photos. 

Yuri knows how annoying they can come across, even terrifying at times, but he also knows the importance of pacifying them. 

Otabek turns to him, hands brought together and face curious. “What should we do?” Otabek asks. “Is there some sort of line we have to go through, or ticket booth before we’re allowed to shop?” 

“Have you never been to a market before?” Yuri asks him, arching an eyebrow in slight shock. 

“Never found much need to. I had never gone to one with my family in Kazakhstan, and all my time training elsewhere hadn’t given me any time to visit one.” Otabek’s answer is enough to supply Yuri, yet begs more questions than answers. He never expected to hear of someone who hadn’t gone to a marketplace, nor from someone as old as Otabek.

He pulls out his wallet and phone, checking the time and making sure there was still time to find a good stand that sold something still warm. “Well,” Yuri begins, “There’s no tickets, or a line we have to stand in. All we really do is walk around, find someplace to buy stuff from, and continue once we’ve paid.” 

“That’s it?” Otabek looks doubtful. “Don’t you think that’s too much trust on the market’s part?” 

“Beka, you need to stop being so suspicious towards this place. I promise, it’s worth the trip.” Yuri glances around, views the abundance of citizens roaming around the area and examining the various stands set up. In comparison to the empty atmosphere that they had experienced on the way there, it’s as if the world is all located in this one spot. Kids chase their siblings down the pathways, mothers raise their voice, with kids propped on their hips and bags swinging from their free hands. When Yuri sees the elderly that walk around, faces wrinkled and hands trembling as they reach out to touch the fruits, he smiles to himself. He likes to think if he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself six once more, his grandfather coming to his side and leading him, hand and hand, as they shopped and socialized amongst those loitering about. 

“It’s worth the trip,” he repeats. “Shall we go in?”

* * *

After the various stalls and vendors visited, and Yuri’s arms begin to ache from carrying so many bags, Otabek finally decides that he’s loosened up to the place. He’s actively seeking out the sellers, engaging in conversation on nearly anything, eyeing the pastries and discussing the times in which the baker has to rise and make them. Yuri doesn’t mind, finds it highly amusing to watch. It’s, in a lot of ways, cute, seeing the way Otabek drags him from stall to stall, eyes the produce in one and trinkets in another, almost always pulling out his wallet to buy something.

Of course, Yuri doesn’t think ahead to once they’ve left the place, having become a victim to Otabek’s mindless ramblings about the place on their way home.

“I just think,” he starts, zipping down the road with Yuri clutching the bought items in between his chest and Otabek’s back, “that the way they organized the berries, from the strawberries and blueberries and black ones, was really smart, right?”

“Totally,” Yuri tells him, voice automatically answering. He looks at the street signs and spots a familiar route he’s seen Yakov follow countless times, Viktor even more so. “Once you pass that car right there, make a quick left down that road. It’ll lead to a shorter way home.”

Otabek listens, and ends up going from a paved road to a well-worn out dirt road, creating clouds of dust as they quickly move through. The more they move along the road, the higher they go, until Yuri can see the very bridge they crossed, and small bustles of crowds here and there, leading the start of the day.

When Otabek goes higher, and the skyline is more available to their line of vision, he can see the sunrise, now in bright shades of colors bouncing and painting the sky, surrounding all of St. Petersburg in an amazingly pigmented array of warmth and beauty. Where it had been only just a peaked sun from when Yuri had awoken, bright and attacking the darkness from the night before, now it was tracing pink streaks into the clouds, almost a cotton candy vibe of sorts. When Yuri was younger, he always thought that once he had grown tall enough, he’d be able to reach up and simply grab all the clouds, hold them in his hands and create shapes and forms.

He imagines with the slight difference in his height then compared to his of now, he could still, in a way, hope for that idea to ring true.

They reach the highest peak in the road, and Otabek slows down, coming to a full stop near the side of the road. He gets off, and Yuri sets down the bags to follow.

“It’s so beautiful,” Otabek says, staring off, helmet still on.

“Yeah, it really is,” Yuri responds. He stands next to Otabek, half enjoys the sunrise, half enjoys the way Otabek’s presence surrounds him. They don’t talk for a while, quiet yet speaking a thousand different things to each other. With time, Yuri comes in closer to Otabek, tilts his head to rest onto his shoulder. Fingers brush, then intertwine.

“I got you something.”

“What?” Yuri asks, voice laced with curiosity. He moves his head away to look at Otabek. He feels his mouth begin to smile. “Like, a gift?”

“Yeah. I figured I give it to you now, before the rest of the day started.”

“You didn’t have to- “ Yuri starts, ready to protest against it, even with the grin painting his features. Otabek doesn’t give him the chance to finish.

“I had to. Otherwise, I’d be doing my best friend wrong, don’t you think?” Otabek’s free hand moves about, comes to hold a wrapped up box of sorts. When Yuri parts from his friend, takes the box in his hands, Otabek rests his hand onto Yuri’s shoulder,

“It’s not much,” he begins, as Yuri opens it, “but I wanted to do something.”

When he opens it, he finds stacks and stacks of CDs, all in various cases and labeled in different colors. It has to have a least two dozen, maybe more, and Yuri wishes to sit down and comb through them all. “This,” Yuri says. “This is amazing, Beka.”

“I made different mixes based on moods, some for your practices, too.” With Yuri’s hands occupied holding the box, Otabek reaches in and shows him various examples, of all the CDs and their intended for purpose. When Yuri looks, he sees that each CD has a cover drawn on in messy pen doodles and markers sloppily labeling the name of the each one. “And,” he adds. “If you didn't want to carry them around all the time, I made digital copies of them, just in case you wanted me to download some onto your phone for you.”

“This…” Yuri trails off, tries to start again. “This is amazing. But you didn't have to do all of this. A simple flash-drive of the mixes would've been fine enough.”

“I know,” Otabek says. “I… I wanted to make sure you'd have something physical. Something that you could hold on to.”

Yuri is silent, gazing at the way Otabek clutches the CDs. He opens his mouth, voice soft. “I already do.”

“You do?” Otabek asks. He furrows his brows. “What?”

“I have you.”

**Author's Note:**

> @inuyashas_ on twitter


End file.
